


what the pain left her

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, F/F, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Relationship, Torture, it's not super graphic but better safe than sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 21:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10396827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: Fareeha knows what to expect from the darkness before death.





	

The first time it’s all heat and light and sound. And _pain_.

So much pain that it drives everything else out of her. There is no room left in her for anything but the all-consuming pain, no ability left to worry about her squad mate next to her or where the grenade had come from in the first place. She’s unaware of the sun on her face or how her blood pours into the earth, unaware of the medics and their shouts and the way they jostle her as they fall to their knees at her side.

She knows only the pain, is only aware of her left arm because it is the one thing that does not hurt.

(Later, she will realize what a bad sign that is, but at the moment it is only a small relief.)

The pain strips her of everything, even the ability to wish for it to stop. It leaves her with only two things: her mother’s voice, both crackling with static over telephone lines and lifted in song; and her father’s hands, carefully working on something at his bench, a ring glinting dully on his little finger.

Fareeha wakes in the military hospital with her shoulder bandaged, and later works through the rehab with single minded determination. When the pain’s too much to bear and the next task seems impossible, she closes her eyes and remembers.

—

Joining Overwatch is a dream. It’s also hard, thankless, dangerous work, more than any military stationing or security assignment she’s been on. They’re unauthorized, illegal, dodging Talon and law enforcement alike. And she’s alone in the sky, just one set of eyes, one launcher to take out the enemy before they retaliate against the sole target silhouetted against the clouds.

She gets injured often at first, before she learns how to better coordinate with a pure ground team, after she remembers without thinking that she must watch her own back first. It’s… not an instinct that comes naturally to her.

Mercy insists on accompanying her, and Pharah might’ve taken it as an insult if it wasn’t for how obviously excited about it Mercy is. She pulls Pharah into little strategy sessions, talking a million miles an hour and interrupting herself as she comes up with new and better plans to reach the rest of the team faster, to serve more efficiently. It’s amusing and endearing, and if Mercy is using Pharah, at least it’s another way she can contribute to the team as a whole.

Having Mercy by her side helps; another person to watch out for makes her sharper, more focused on threats that face them and only them. It doesn’t always save her.

The second time isn’t a near-death experience. The second time she dies, and it’s fast. One moment she is in the air, the next she is on the ground with Mercy leaning over her, eyes worried but words urgent and anxious, getting her back up on her feet and into the fight where they are both desperately needed. But the thrum in her ears isn’t the familiar sounds of her jets; it’s her mother’s low humming as she makes dinner. Pharah’s more quiet than usual through the rest of the mission, until she steps foot on the transport and the sound finally ends.

The third time is much slower, leaving her choking on blood as bullets rip through her chest, with Mercy’s voice over the comms telling her to _hang on, I’m on my-_ fading out into nothing. Pharah slumps forward in the snow, feeling the weight of the Raptora pressing against her more keenly. The engines on her back are a welcome warmth, familiar and comforting, the same as when her father steadied her when she first learned to ride a bike. She finds herself smiling through bloody lips before all feeling drains away.

“What does it feel like?” Angela asks her late one night, when neither of them can sleep. They have been spending more time together, their partnership on the field translating into a friendship and trust off of it. It allows them to give voice to things that they otherwise would not, and the darkness before death is a secret that they all keep to themselves.

Fareeha struggles for the words. “Peaceful,” she finally says. “When the pain finally stops, it feels almost… peaceful. Like remembering something you hadn’t realized you’d forgotten.”

“I’m almost sorry,” Angela murmurs, so softly Fareeha isn’t sure she heard it at all. “And what do you remember?”

That question is easier. “Home,” Fareeha answers, and with the understanding between them Angela knows not to press further. Or maybe she doesn’t have to.

The fourth stretches into the fifth, then the sixth. They were caught unaware, unprepared, and Fareeha didn’t hesitate before throwing herself into the line of fire, even without the Raptora to guard her.

So now here she is, captive and prisoner, held by Talon for who knows how long. When they first brought her to the interrogation room, she didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk and tell them to do their worst. She was taught in the military that anyone can be broken, given time and sufficient stress. And she knows Widowmaker. She knows what Talon is capable of.

But she also knows exactly who she is. And she has no intention of making this easy for anyone.

So she gives them her name and rank. She tells them stories of the old Overwatch, recites the heroes who fell years and years ago. She screams without shame when that’s all she has left to offer them.

When her ears start to ring, when blackness creeps into the edges of her vision, she welcomes her old companion.

And then they heal her. With the familiar warmth of Mercy’s technology running through her veins, Fareeha Amari finally laughs.

She frustrates them, and so they push her too far again. Fareeha’s head hangs forward, knowing her mother’s voice, the edge in it softened in the only apology that she will ever receive, knowing her father’s hands wrapping her fingers around a tool for the first time, knowing the bright blue of Angela’s eyes when she smiles.

Maybe, if she wasn’t dying, that last one would be a jolt, a realization that makes her stop and gasp. Instead the image is simply there, without hesitation or question, as if it always had been. As if she only remembered it now.

They heal her again. She doesn’t laugh.

The cycles repeats several times. When they throw her into a cell, she has no voice left to her, nor strength, nor hope. And yet, her father’s hands press the stale bread to her cracked and bloody lips. Her mother’s voice offers a quiet prayer to the still air. And she looks to the ceiling, knowing past it is the sky and that help is on the way.

She sleeps. Or maybe she dies. She’s not sure which one.

Either way she comes to with warmth fizzling through her, opening her eyes to find Mercy hovering over her, Zarya shifting her cannon’s weight as she stands guard in the door.

“Fareeha!” Mercy’s wings flare when she notices Fareeha’s attention, relief coloring her tone even though it never loses its urgency. “Are you all right? Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Fareeha rasps, watching how Mercy’s blue eyes flick over her in concern at her answer. It feels familiar, and safe. It feels peaceful.

She gets back to the transport with some assistance, though she gently pulls away from Zarya’s shoulder to salute the team that came to save her. She returns Angela’s smile with one of her own as the doctor removes her halo and puts it to the side. She answers Hana’s too tight hug with quiet assurances, telling her, as she knows is true, that everything will be all right.


End file.
